And The Earth Did Not Devour Him

“He tried to figure out when that time he had come to call ‘year’ had started. He became aware that he was always thinking and thinking and from this there was no way out. Then he started thinking about how he never thought and this was when his mind would go blank and he would fall asleep. But before falling asleep he saw and heard many things...”

This passage from the opening chapter exemplifies the stream-of-consciousness narrative style. The boy’s confused thoughts are expressed in fused sentences and contradictory sentiments that mirror the disordered state of his memories. The experiences the boy shares throughout the book will follow this stream-of-consciousness format. He peppers narrative sections with snippets of dialogue that have no speech tags (so the reader either does not know or must infer who is speaking) and presents events out of chronological order and in fragments. Each chapter’s point of view is also inconsistent; some chapters are presented in first person and others in third.

“What his mother never knew was that every night he would drink the glass of water that she left under the bed for the spirits. She always believed that they drank the water and so she continued doing her duty.”

In this vignette at the end of Chapter 1, the narrative shifts to the first person after presenting the boy’s thoughts in third person throughout the first chapter. In the vignette, a boy, presumably the same “I” from the chapter, recalls drinking the water his mother left under the bed for the spirits. He considers telling her it is he not the spirits who is drinking the water but decides to wait until he is an adult. His motivation for keeping it secret is not disclosed. This experience—seeing his mother’s faith in something he knows is not true—is the book’s first instance of religious skepticism, a motif that recurs throughout.

“I promise you my life for his. Bring him back from Korea safe and sound. Cover his heart with your hands, Jesus Christ, Holy God, Virgen de Guadalupe, bring him back alive, bring me back his heart. Why have they taken him? He has done no harm. He knows nothing. He is very humble. He doesn’t want to take away anybody’s life. Bring him back alive, I don’t want him to die.”

In this chapter, a mother prays fervently for her son to return safely from Korea, offering her life in exchange for her son’s safety. In addition to emphasizing the mother’s love for her son, the passage demonstrates religious faith within the migrant labor community, as introduced in the first vignette. Later in the book, readers learn Don Mateo’s son, Chuy, died in Korea. The mother in this chapter is not given a name, and no explicit connection is made between the mother praying in this chapter and Chuy’s death. This suggests the futility of prayer in that the unnamed mother may represent all mothers who pray for sons who continue to die in wars. This passage also exemplifies how the narrator alludes to events rather than explicitly stating them. The year in which events take place is never mentioned but can be inferred from the references to the Korean War.

“I was mad but mostly I felt embarrassed because I was sitting away from everyone where they could see me better. Then when it was my turn to read, I couldn’t. I could hear myself. And I could hear that no words were coming out...”

Here the narrator describes the shame he felt being punished at school for not knowing how to read. He describes being put “in the corner apart from everyone” and another student making a rude gesture with his finger, also providing an example of implication rather than explicitness—the reader may infer the rude gesture is lifting the middle finger (84). The teacher singles out the boy and sets him apart from other, presumably white, students, a localized example of Mexican migrant workers’ marginalization. Being made a spectacle for his inability to read heightens the shame he feels. After the event, he prefers to hide in a cemetery than return home and face his family’s disappointment.

“But how could I even think of leaving knowing that everyone at home wanted me to go to school.”

In this section, the janitor is guarding the boy after his fight and waiting for the principal to come fetch him. The janitor is holding up his broom in a threatening way, in case the boy tries to run away. The boy hears the janitor’s side of a phone conversation in which he tells the person on the other end of the phone, that “[t]he Mexican kid” beat up “a couple of our boys” (85). The janitor acknowledges that it was not a bad beating but treats the boy’s fate as inconsequential. The boy is “other,” and the janitor does not consider the consequences for him. Meanwhile, the boy is hoping he misunderstood and has not been expelled. His greatest fear is not the janitor’s broom or the principle’s anger but the prospect of returning home and having to disclose to his family that he has been expelled. Their faith for the boy’s advancement rests in the education system, and that system has rejected the boy.

“It’s that it hurts and it’s embarrassing at the same time.”

TIn this section, the narrator steels himself for the prospect of telling his family that he has been expelled. He thinks about not only his father’s disappointment but also the anxiety and upset his expulsion will cause his mother, godfather, and other members of his extended family. His father’s wish is for the boy to grow up to be a telephone operator, a role they saw featured prominently in a film. When the boy’s godfather visits, his father encourages the boy to read to him and to share this dream of becoming a telephone operator as if it is his own. The prospect of being unable to fulfill his father’s wish hurts the boy and is compounded by the shame he feels at being shamed at school.

“If I were you I wouldn’t worry about that. The poor can’t get poorer. We can’t get worst off than we already are. That’s why I don’t worry. The ones who have to be on their toes are the ones who are higher up. They’ve got something to lose. They can end up where we’re at. But for us what does it matter?”

Presented as a dialogue, the vignette that concludes Chapter 4 provides contrasting examples of how education and the notion of social advancement are seen and valued in the migrant community. One speaker asks the other why they (presumably including other speaker’s siblings) “go to school so much” (88). The second speaker explains it is “to prepare” them so that “if someday there’s an opportunity, maybe they’ll give it to us” (88). The speaker in the passage quoted above expresses skepticism toward striving for more since having brings the threat of losing. Meanwhile, the first speaker recognizes the possibility that preparation does not ensure opportunities will be granted, speaking to the racial discrimination the speaker, assuming it is the boy, has already experienced.

“Now he understood everything. Those who summoned the devil went crazy, not because the devil appeared, but just the opposite, because he didn’t appear. Hhe fell asleep gazing at the moon as it jumped through the clouds and the trees, as if it was extremely content about something.”

Here, the narrator attempts to summon the devil, and nothing happens. He uses, in his attempted summoning, several different names for the devil, and he has waited for it to be exactly midnight, the proper hour according to his community’s belief. Don Rayos, who played the devil in a shepherd’ play, warned the boy that summoning the devil leads to madness. The boy’s failed summoning reveals what he believes to be the true cause of the madness: there is nothing. The beliefs in God, the devil, and punishment for sins are, he concludes from his experience, ungrounded, just as was his mother’s belief that the spirits were drinking the water in Vignette 1. The boy’s loss of faith brings him contentment, as expressed in his description of the moon. His feeling of contentment echoes in the book’s final chapter in relation to the boy feeling he has recovered his memories of his lost year.

“The first time he felt hate and anger was when he saw his mother crying for his uncle and his aunt. They both had caught tuberculosis and had been sent to different sanitariums. So, between the brother and sisters, they had split up the children among themselves and had taken care of them as best they could. Then the aunt died, and soon thereafter they had brought the uncle back from the sanitarium, but he was already spitting blood. That was when he saw his mother crying every little while. He became angry because he was unable to do anything against anyone.”

In this passage, the boy feels powerless to change his family’s circumstances. The phrase “he was unable to do anything against anyone” highlights that his rage is outwardly directed: He wants someone to be responsible and later blames God. The boy wants to fight “against” but has no outlet at which to direct his anger and no power to change his family’s situation. They are trapped in a loop of labor, sickness, and death. Later in the chapter, the boy will again feel angry when he hears his father moaning in pain caused by sunstroke and when his younger brother becomes sick from working in the hot sun. As these episodes of work-induced illness accumulate, the boy’s rage and frustration build and lead, later in the chapter, to an overt rejection of the religious faith on which his mother relies for hope.

“Tell me, Mother, why? Why us, burrowed in the dirt like animals with no hope for anything? You know the only hope we have is coming out here every year. And like yourself say, only death brings rest. I think that’s the way my aunt and uncle felt and that’s how Dad must feel too.”

Here, the boy questions why his family suffers as they it does. He tells his mother they do not deserve this pain, noting that his father is good and kind yet continues, undeservedly, to toil and suffer. Hope—which the boy’s father says, in Chapter 11, is “always best”—is denied them as their circumstances never seem to change despite the amount of work they do. When the boy’s mother prays and lights candles, he asks her, “What’s to be gained from doing all that?” and insists that “God has no concern” for them (101). His mother begs him to stop, the boy’s anger builds to a breaking point, and he curses God. His mother finds hope through faith while the boy rejects it, believing it has led only to despair, as the family’s conditions do not change.

“Frequently he felt a sense of surprise upon recalling what he had done the previous afternoon. He thought of telling his mother, but he decided to keep it secret. All he told her was that the earth did not devour anyone, nor did the sun.”

After he curses God, the boy expects the ground to open up and swallow him, but as with his attempt to summon the devil, nothing happens. He does not tell his mother but feels empowered by his discovery that he can curse God without consequence. He feels “capable of doing and undoing anything that he pleased” (105).The experience is another instance of his growing religious skepticism. His discovery that he can curse God without consequence leaves him feeling at peace and detached. Detachment places him beyond the conflicting feelings of hope and despair that characterize his mother’s emotional experience.

“The three children were left to themselves in the house when they went to work because the owner didn’t like children in the fields doing mischief and distracting their parents from their work. Once they took them along and kept them in the car, but the day had gotten very hot and stuffy and the children had even gotten sick. From thenm on, they decided to leave them at home instead, although, they worried about them all day long. Instead of packing a lunch, they would go home at noon to eat and that way they could check on them to see if they were all right.”

The three children in this passage refer to Don Efraín and Doña Chona’s children, two of whom die in a fire while their parents are working in the fields. This passage highlights the parents’ double bind that links hope and despair: They must work to care for their children, but they cannot care for their children while working. This passage also provides further context for the narrator’s anger in Chapter 7, showing how tragic the consequences can be for workers who have few options and opportunities. These consequences are especially acute when bosses like Don Efraín and Doña Chona’s care only for the bottom line and are blind to the human cost.

“Her husband worked almost eighteen hours a day washing dishes and cooking at a restaurant. He didn’t have time to go downtown and buy toys. Besides, they had to save money every week to pay for the trip up north. Now they even charged for children too, even if they rode standing up the whole way to Iowa. So it cost them a lot to make the trip.”

In the final chapter, it is implied that Doña Maria is the narrator’s mother. Like Don Efraín and Doña Chona, even with the long hours Doña Maria’s husband works, the family struggles financially. Typically, he cannot afford to buy toys for his children, and when he can, he does not have time to shop for them. To find work, he travels north with his family, but the trip is expensive, and he must pay extra to bring his children even when they are standing for the ride’s duration. Like Don Efraín and Doña Chona, Doña Maria and her husband confront a double bind: Travel means the hope of more work, but the work never seems to lead to better conditions for the family.

“Of course, I recognized him right off. Because when you’re angry enough, you don’t forget a face. I just grabbed him right then and there. Poor guy couldn’t even talk. He was all scared. And I told him that I wanted that portrait of my son and that I wanted it three dimensional and that he’d best get it for me or I’d let him have it. And I went with him to where he lived. And I put him to work right then and there. The poor guy didn’t know where to begin. He had to do it all from memory.”

In the above passage, Don Mateo explains, in a dialogue with an unnamed speaker, how he hunted down the portrait artist who swindled him and destroyed his and his wife’s only photo of their son who died in the Korean War. Like others in his neighborhood, Don Mateo commissioned a portrait, but the artists ran off with the money, stuffing the townspeople’s photos into a sack and dumping it. Neighborhood children later find the sack of ruined photos after a heavy rain. Soaked and stuck together, the photos are beyond repair. Don Mateo is so angry at the loss of Chuy’s photo and his wife’s despair that he finds the portrait artist and demands that he complete the portrait as promised, though the artist must do so from memory. Refusing to be exploited, Don Mateo is relentless in ensuring the artist creates the portrait. The artist’s reconstruction of Chuy mirrors how the book’s narrator reconstructs his portrait of the Mexican migrant community—from his memories and from his will to recover those memories. Don Mateo does not accept being swindled, as the boy does not accept losing his memories.

“Just before I fell asleep on my feet, it felt like my knees were going to buckle. But I guess your body gets used to it right away ‘’cause it doesn’t seem so hard anymore. But the kids must feel real tired standing like this all the way and with nothing to hold on to. Us grownups can at least hold on to the center bar that supports the canvas. And to think we’re not as crowded as other times. I think there must be forty of us at the most. I remember that one time I traveled with that bunch of wetbacks, there were more than sixty of us. We couldn’t even smoke.”

This passage is the inner monologue of a migrant worker on an overcrowded truck headed up north. The truck has broken down, and Chapter 13 presents the thoughts of workers as they wait for the truck to be fixed. Presumably, the boy is one of the standing children the speaker references in this passage. The passage also highlights the worker’s resignation to difficult conditions. The speaker notes how it compares to a previous, even more crowded trip and that workers grow used to the harsh conditions. These conditions can become normalized and accepted despite being harsh and cruel.

“Fuckin’ life, this goddamn fuckin’ life! This fuckin’ sonofabitchin’ life for being pendejo! pendejo! pendejo! We’re nothing but a bunch of stupid, goddamn asses! To hell with this goddamn motherfuck’ life! This is the last time I go through this, standing up all the way like a goddamn animal. As soon as we get there I’m headed for Minneapolis. Somehow I’ll find me something to do where I don’t have to work like a fuck’ mule. Fuckin’ life! One of these days they’ll fuckin’ pay for this.”

Here, the speaker’s anger mirrors the narrator’s anger in Chapter 7. Both feel rage at the circumstances they cannot change or escape. The speaker in this passage refers to himself, his people, and their life as stupid (“pendejo”) and resolves to seek better opportunities in Minneapolis. The speaker’s monologue contrasts with the others in that most of the speaker’s fret about practical concerns—how the crop will do, what kind of housing they will have, how they will pay for their basic needs.

“Poor viejo. He must be real tired now, standing up the whole trip. I saw him nodding off a little while ago. And with no way to help him, what with these two in my arms. How I wish we were there already so we could lie down, even if it’s on the hard floor.”

This is the monologue of a mother on the broken-down truck. She reflects on her husband’s exhaustion and frets that she will be unable to help him because she must care for their children until they are old enough to go to school. She resolves to help him “along his row so he won’t feel so overworked” and prays that she will be able to help him (136), demonstrating reliance on religious faith. This passage also highlights the specific challenge to parents of very young children. The speaker refers to breastfeeding her children, suggesting they are at most toddlers and thus must be attended to, meaning more labor for the husband and more worrying for the wife.

“What a great view of the stars from here! It looks like they’re coming down and touching the canvas of the truck. It’s almost like there aren’t any people inside. There’s hardly any traffic at this hour. Every now and then a trailer passes by. The silence of the morning twilight makes everything look like it’s made of satin. And now, what do I wipe myself with? Why couldn’t it always be early dawn like this?”

In the chapter’s first monologue, the speaker longs to get off the truck because the need to empty his bowels has caused him a stomachache. This draws attention to one of the basic physical needs denied the workers on the truck. In this passage later in the chapter, the point of view returns to the first speaker, who reflects on the beauty of the early dawn sky as he attends to his bodily need. Early dawn marks the end of night and darkness, which resonates with the relief the man finally experiences. Dawn is also significant because it is the end of the book, when Bartolo will describe the spoken word as illuminating love in the darkness and the narrator will emerge from his memories feeling he has made sense of them. This passage also demonstrates the range of the workers’ thoughts and feelings as they wait on the truck.

“Boy, that town had to be the worst. We didn’t even stop and still the cop caught up with us just to tell us that he didn’t want us staying there. I guess he just wanted to show off in front of the town people. But we didn’t even stop in their goddamn town. When we get there, as soon as I drop them off, I’ll turn back. Each one to fend for himself.”

In this passage, the truck driver feels bitterness at being chased away by the police. The anecdote suggests the discrimination migrant workers face. The police officer and, presumably, the town residents want the migrant workers out of their town despite their having done nothing wrong. The driver resolves to leave the migrants to find their own way back to Texas, highlighting the workers’ vulnerability to circumstance.

“When we arrive, when we arrive, the real truth is that I’m tired of arriving. Arriving and leaving, it’s the same thing because we no sooner arrive and ... the real truth of the matter ... I’m tired of arriving. I really should say when we don’t arrive because that’s the real truth. We never arrive.”

This speaker expresses the frustration of being continually in transit, both literally and figuratively. The workers travel to find work, continually looking ahead to the next place, the next opportunity. In that sense, they never arrive as they are perpetually in the process of traveling. On a figurative level, the workers’ lives do not seem to advance or change. They continually work and strive only to find themselves in the same circumstances. This illustrates the way the novel meditates on the tension between paradoxical elements, especially in this instance on the interconnection of hope and despair. Traveling gives them hope for more work, but that work does not seem to lead to material changes in their conditions, which causes the workers to despair about the possibility of changing their circumstances. Hope and despair are tangled in an endless loop.

“Little by little the crickets ceased their chirping. It seemed as though they were getting tired and dawn gradually confirmed the presence of objects, ever so carefully and very slowly, so that no one would take notice of what was happening. And people were becoming people. They began getting out of the trailer and huddled around to talk about what they would do when they arrived.”

This passage exemplifies the jumbled nature of stream-of-consciousness narrative. Objects are referenced but never explained, and readers must infer, from the workers discussing what they will do when they arrive, that the truck has not been fixed. The dawn light may indicate a humanizing element: As the darkness lifts, the workers can be seen as individuals rather than a mass on a truck passing through the night. This passage precedes the vignette that features Bartolo and his poems, which also lends figurative significance to the dawn.

“Bartolo passed through town every December when he knew that most of the people had returned from work up north. He always came by to sell his poems. By the end of the first day, they were almost sold out because the names of the people of the town appeared in the poems. And when he read them aloud it was something emotional and serious. I recall that one time he told the people to read the poems out loud because the spoken word was the seed of love in the darkness.”

Along with Chapter 12, this passage, presented in the vignette at the end of Chapter 13, provides context for understanding the book’s purpose and the significance of the stream-of-consciousness format. Bartolo gives voice to the workers’ experiences in the poems he crafts about them. He reads the poems aloud and encourages the workers to do so as well. Central to this action are the acts of telling stories and being heard. Chapter 13 narrates the workers’ various thoughts and feelings, as Bartolo’s poems presumably do, and as the book as a whole does. The narrator is the vessel through which the workers’ stories are told. Stream-of-consciousness keeps both the narrator and the workers in the foreground. It makes clear that the narrator has filtered the workers’ experiences through his memory, but it also makes clear that the book is not just about one boy but about a community, both what connects them and how they differ from one another.

“I would like to see all of the people together. And then, if I had great big arms, I could embrace them all. I wish I could talk to all of them again, but all of them together. But that can only happen in a dream. I like it right here because I can think about anything I please. Only by being alone can you bring everybody together. That’s what I needed to do, hide, so that I could come to understand a lot of things. From now on, all I have to do is to come here, in the dark, and think about them. And I have so much to think about and I’m missing so many years. I think today what I wanted to do was recall this past year. And that’s just one year. I’ll have to come here to recall all of the other years.”

In the book’s final chapter, the narrator hides under a house (not his own) thinking about his experiences and attempting to piece them together into a whole. He wishes he could embrace his community and bring all of them together but accepts that this can only happen in a dream. This brings him full circle from the beginning of the book, when he recalled a dream in which he called himself, triggering him to recollect his lost year, and represents the clarity he has achieved by telling his and his community’s stories.